The Library
by Winter's Lightning
Summary: Roxas wanders the library's lonely corridors, a ghost of his former self... clinging desperately to vague memories bound in silver chains. Superchick: "Here I am, at the end of me. Trying to hold on to what I can't see."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kingdom Hearts.

**Pairings:** Implied Roxas/Axel

Superchick: Beauty From Pain:_ "My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made."_

* * *

There was a time Roxas was quiet. He stacked shelves in the castle's library with a smooth efficiency born of long practice, and careful precision. He had learnt early on that Zexion didn't tolerate mediocrity.

Roxas had been the Library's keeper for a very long time. Sometimes, lost in the maze of endless knowledge, breathing in the smell of ancient books, he wondered if one day he might just lose himself. Listening to his own quiet, steady footsteps tap a lonely echo across the marble floor, he imagined all the dust from yellowed pages sinking into his veins and becoming a part of him forever.

Some days, he wondered if it had happened already.

Roxas had watched over the library for so long that he had begun to wonder if the distorted memories of his life before the invasion were even real at all. Hazy dreams of summer days, bright and full of laughter that danced on the wind. Faces laced with meaning forever drifted just past recognition. Smiles and voices bleached vague and golden by the silver chains wrapped delicately around his wrists, fading ever faster as the years passed slowly by.

The chains were always cold against his wrists, glittering as they soaked up the heat rising from his skin, using it to send whispers of servitude and forgetfulness deep into the corners of his mind.

He thought he might have had a family once, before he was taken away.

The metal burned cold and unforgiving against his skin, flowing with words of liquid fire.

Roxas ran a finger along the spine of a deep red book. It was old, cracks and stains rested under the layer of dust coating the cover. Roxas frowned, and moved his slim fingers over the indents of runes long forgotten. It was a beautiful red. Rich and dark. He closed his eyes and tried to understand why his heart was suddenly slamming against his ribs. Hard enough to make him wince and clutch his chest, chains flaring bright and blinding, cutting half formed memories to shreds as he screwed his eyes shut, and willed himself to paint colours and feelings onto the backs of his eyelids, hold onto them in any way he could, before they were taken away.

He awoke on the stone floor cold and uncomfortable, a book clutched tight to his chest. He silently pushed it back in place, a familiar sense of unease creeping down his spine.

* * *

Axel hated working in the kitchens.

He hated the steam, the way the smell of chopped vegetables clung to his clothes and skin. He hated the monotony, the routine of chopping, dicing, slicing, grinding. He'd have had the place up in flames a dozen times, if the safety charms hadn't kicked in.

Axel hated the Castle's magic. It was a constant, stifling presence, hanging heavy in the air. Eyes that never slept, watching their every move.

He didn't belong here. He was a member of the Thirteenth Battalion – The Kingdom's elite. With the killing power of a thousand soldiers, the troop was made up of just a dozen men, and a captain that could destroy the sun if he put his mind to it.

He was dangerous, he was merciless, but more than that, he was beautiful.

Axel looked up towards the kitchen's skylight, gazing into the same taunting blue that haunted his dreams, his nightmares, his memories… lingered on the fringes of his mind, and lay in the shadows behind his every waking thought.

Lip curling into a snarl, Axel fought to push his thoughts aside. The knives were sharp, and thoughts of Roxas made his hands shake.

* * *

Author's note: I was unsure about posting this, since I've never posted an ongoing story here before, and I think this could work as a one shot anyway. I'm currently writing more of it, so if anyone wants more, let me know. Any feedback would be appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

Of all the nobles, Roxas liked Zexion the most. As official keeper of the library, he had full authority over Roxas. He was under no obligation to treat Roxas as anything more than a tool, a slave to his every whim. But instead, Zexion was a quiet, thoughtful presence in the otherwise lonely hall, content to browse through endless pages, scribbling notes in languages Roxas didn't understand. All he asked was that the books be kept in order.

Sometimes, Zexion even talked to him. Watching his reactions closely, asking strange questions of the world outside… only to smile sadly when he received no answer. Once, Roxas had asked why he talked of life beyond the castle walls. It was the first time he had sought Zexion out for conversation, and his eyes shone as he pulled back a long, embroidered sleeve.

His wrists were pale, but the scars of his own Servitude Chains were still visible. Thin, white lines raised on ivory skin. Zexion had once been like him, and Roxas found some comfort in that. Slowly, through the whispers numbing his will, a burning determination to be free of his own chains grew.

Although he was granted the same freedom of every other Noble in The Castle, Zexion spent much of his time in the library, lost in thought, or deep in conversation with Roxas. And somehow, when Zexion was there, Roxas felt more at peace. His face held a dream like sense of familiarity, so fragile he sometimes convinced himself it wasn't real at all… but his chains glowed brighter when he talked to his superior, and Roxas clung to the flashes of memories long lost to him, but still buried beneath the surface, twisting under his skin. The blazing metal was proof of his life before, the truth behind his tangled memories.

Most of those who visited the library never met his eyes. They pretended not to see him, his wide, questioning eyes. At first, Roxas had thought the chains around his wrists were laced with illusions of invisibility. It would have made sense… the perfect servant, always working, never seen.

But slowly, Roxas came to realise this was not the case. When the cold eyes of the nobles passed over him, they flickered with something close to panic. As time passed, they grew bolder, watching him when they thought he couldn't see, gaze filled with a distant kind of reverence that Roxas couldn't comprehend.

Zexion said they were afraid of him. Of what he was before he came to the library and was bound in silver enchantments. He said not everyone was chained. It was powerful magic, expensive, dangerous, and difficult to maintain. Only those with something to burry were granted chains. Only those too dangerous to allow a mind of their own.

Roxas didn't feel dangerous. Perhaps there had been a mistake. He asked why Zexion had been chained, and watched his own glow as he discovered Zexion had been the leading tactician of a rebel organisation. The Thirteenth Battalion. A name that meant everything and nothing to him at the same time.

Roxas rubbed at his chains distractedly, frowning as sounds and flashes of colour drained from his reach, like water flowing through his fingers. Frustration made his stomach clench, and he levelled Zexion with a fierce glare, eyes flashing with blue lightning.

"How did you break your chains?"

His voice was sharp, demanding. More of an order than a question… A far cry from the mindless shell all bound servants were expected to be.

Zexion smiled, and inclined his head, a subtle gesture of respect that Roxas found himself mirroring before his silver charms flared. Turning away, Zexion plucked a worn leather bound book from the shelf beside him, and replied that he was a strategist, and as such, he would always find a way to work situations to his advantage.

It was then that Roxas realised all of Zexion's notes were based around the castle's magic.

* * *

As night fell, Axel pulled his blanket tight around his shoulders, and ran a scarred hand over the runes that kept him in the castle. Trapped, and frustrated. Bound to the same four walls day in and day out. He hadn't believed it at first. That someone like him could be reduced to servitude by the thin bands of copper set in the cold stone floor. Now, he slept with a steak knife tucked in his belt, and scratched out a different charm every night.

The time would come. And he would be ready.

As his eyes grew heavy, his thoughts drifted, inevitably, to Roxas.

He hadn't seen his best friend in 6 long years.

Before Roxas, The Thirteenth was nothing more than a mismatched group of renegades, loyal only to the memories of families and friends stolen by the castle's Nobles. Thoughts of war singing through their veins, and vengeance running through their fingertips. They were all young, powerful, and feared. Already making a vicious reputation for themselves, when Roxas strolled into their camp, and shook Axel's world with all the force of a raging hurricane.

The night was cold, and it had been a long, boring shift. The hairs on the back of Axel's neck prickled, and he turned from his post towards the camp's main fire. He hadn't heard a thing, no broken twigs, no hint of change on the winds, but there he was… an angel with soft blue eyes and pale blonde hair, watching him from the other side of the crackling flames.

He stood there calmly, face thrown into drastic shadows by the light of the campfire, and asked to join them. It barely sounded like a request. Closer to a formality, a statement. Axel felt the warning signals. His fingers itched for his weapons, nerves on edge. This boy was unafraid.

He advanced, drawing his chakrams and spinning them comfortably in his hands. The stranger's eyes tracked his movements.

"This isn't a game, kid. You don't belong with us. Get out of here."

Roxas frowned and drew his twin swords, one almost invisible in the darkness , the other shining silver in the firelight.

"I'll fight you."

Axel almost laughed, but something in the boy's voice was hard as steel.

"You have to be joking." He cocked his head, a predatory grin breaking free. "You've heard about us, right?"

"Yes."

"So you know who we are… what we're capable of?"

"Yes."

"And you want to fight me?"

"When I win, let me join, or I'll go through your ranks one by one until you take me seriously." With a wicked smile, he reversed the hold on his swords, and took up a defensive stance, blades following the line of his arms.

He'd thought the kid was crazy, but 10 seconds later, face in the dirt, Axel realised that Roxas was everything he claimed to be, and more.

Just 17, and already a terrifying force of nature. Blades as sharp as lightning, with a grin to match. Fearless, volatile, and without a doubt, the most dangerous creature Axel had ever known.

He'd given The Thirteenth a purpose, a direction… and when they took Zexion, it was Roxas that lead the charge. The siege on The Castle was fast and brutal, just like him. They broke through the primary defences in minutes, and were through to the inner walls before the alarm could even sound. Roxas shot through his enemies, body twisting effortlessly around arrows and spears, soaked in the blood of those who's lives he'd taken. Chains of silver and gold were desperately flung towards him by soldiers of the kingdom, a last ditch effort to cage the beast decimating their ranks. In a flash, they were slashed apart to nothing, worthless links of glittering metal that fell to the ground in a rain of broken magic. The Kingdom's men fled, and The Thirteenth Battalion followed. Their captain wiped away the blood trickling into his eyes, and shook droplets from his golden hair. He was terrifying, unrelenting and deadly. A beautiful demon, leaving death in his wake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** Sorry it's taken me so long to update, I've been so busy! Thank you if you haven't lost interest. I replied to my reviews because they made me terribly happy! But I'm not sure they sent correctly, so thank you to anyone that's given me even the slightest bit of encouragement… it means the world to me xx

* * *

That night, Roxas dreamt of war. He was outside The Castle, and it was raining blood. The sunset bathed the sky in fire, and the night's chill was creeping close as the light dimmed. His twin swords were comfortable in his hands. They cut through flesh and bone at a shattering pace, as much a part of him as arms, his hands, his eyes. He watched as The Kingdom's finest turned and ran, dropping weapons and trampling over their comrades in their haste to reach the safety of the castle's walls. Roxas' lip curled. He would show them there was nowhere to hide.

Plucking a sword from the mangled carcass of a fallen Soldier, he hurled it towards the retreating forces, roaring "_**COWARDS!**_" loud enough to tear the darkening sky apart. It struck home hard, sending a man crashing to the ground. Others looked back, faces pale, just in time to see a rain of needle thin daggers looming on the horizon. A moment passed, endless and complete… and a heartbeat later, the ground was thick with death and iron thorns.

A thin blonde woman came to stand beside her Captain, long black coat flaring out behind her. She reloaded her crossbow with a dangerous smile, and set glittering eyes on the high stone walls of the castle.

Roxas turned as his heightened senses crackled. A single soldier had somehow slipped past him, and stood knee deep in the bodies of his former comrades. He was young, possibly as young as Roxas himself. A new recruit, nothing but cannon fodder caught in the midst of the vicious onslaught. He stared with wide, terrified eyes at the fabled Captain of the Thirteenth, and raised his sword, mouth dry. Roxas had to commend him for standing his ground…. He would have made a good soldier, given time. His end was regrettable, but necessary. They were here to send a message, after all. People stolen by The Kingdom never saw their loved ones again. The Thirteenth would respond in kind.

Roxas smiled sadly and turned away. Metal sang through the air – a chakram's scream – and he felt the dull thud of the soldier's body hitting the ground behind him. A warm hand settled on his shoulder. He didn't need to turn to know who it was. Axel's presence was as familiar as his own shadow.

"Having second thoughts?" Bit late for that, but then Axel always had a thing for cut-throat irony.

The grip on his shoulder tightened. A subtle show of concern… Inconsequential to anyone else, but Roxas knew better. Axel was giving him an out. Roxas kept his eyes trained on the castle walls, watching for archers and stray enchantments. He could feel the others drawing near, combing through gory remains for the wounded, and those praying to be taken for dead.

"They took Zex. We have to get him back."

Axel grunted, and stepped in front of him. Green eyes blazing, he studied Roxas carefully, spiked hair standing out against the grey walls of the castle, as red as the dark blood drenching the battlefield.

"There's no going back after we pass through those walls, Rox. Nobody's ever tried anything like this. We don't know what will happen." His grip intensified. This was it.

Roxas looked hard at his closest friend, and asked simply "What if they had taken me?"

Axel cracked a wicked grin, and took up his usual place beside the captain. He focused on the grey stone walls and licked his lips, anticipation burning through his veins. "Let's burn them to the ground."

Roxas readied his swords, and the dark army of renegades gathered behind him.

Night set in, and as The Thirteenth blended into the darkness, Roxas found himself on the Library's floor, chains burning against his wrists, the smell of scorched flesh creeping through the empty hall. A searing pain shot behind his eyes, and he curled in on himself.

"_NO!_"

He clutched desperately at the dream slipping past his reach. Fingers curled into his hair, and nails scraped at his scalp. Colours began to blur, and painful frustration coursed through him. Tears welled in his eyes as shapes and faces drained away, and he felt, as ever, powerless against his silver chains.

He pulled at them viciously, so lost in his anger that he didn't hear the echo of footsteps racing towards him.

Zexion's hand was cool on his arm. Roxas blinked up at him, single tears slowly rolling down each cheek. A servant found resisting his bindings. Disobedience of the highest order. He waited for the inevitable punishment, welcomed it, almost… pathetic as he was. Unable to fight the enchantments set upon his mind, too weak to even hold onto keep a hold on his dreams. Baring his teeth he hissed "Come on then! _Do it!_"

Zexion's face was cold and unreadable. Crouched on the floor, he leaned closer. Brow furrowed, he watched Roxas' eyes very closely. They flickered.

"What do you remember?"

Roxas snarled, one hand still clutching at his head as if it would keep his thoughts intact. It was a useless struggle, no matter how close his memories seemed, how vivid and real they felt… they always faded away to nothing as the seconds trickled by. With a scream he curled his hand into a fist and slammed it into the cold stone floor. His knuckles throbbed, and the thin silver links chimed together mockingly.

Panting, he stared transfixed at the dark red blood swelling through the cracked skin of his knuckles. A single drop trailed past the edge of his hand, and fell towards grey stone.

Roxas stilled.

"You." His voice was dark, dangerous. With aching slowness, he flexed his hand, and reached towards Zexion's robes. He twisted the cloth in a vice like grip and dragged him down. Eyes level, teeth bared, he whispered "we came for _you._"

* * *

In his time behind enemy lines, Axel had earned himself a fierce reputation. Refusing to sit and rot quietly like a good little recruit, he devoted himself to raising his own brand of carefully planned anarchy throughout the castle.

His body might be bound chained to the kitchen's copper runes, but his mind was sharp, and his eyes were everywhere. Slowly and carefully he built up an intricate network of trusted allies. It started small. He watched those around him carefully, weighing up their strength… seeking out the few souls amongst the ghost like workers that had not completely lost who they used to be. Underneath the surface, buried beneath a façade of meek acceptance, there were those that had a core of pure steel. They were soldiers, husbands, wives at heart, and no amount of time or magic could scrape that away.

Not a week into his servitude, Axel began to send the first shivers of disquiet throughout the ranks, and by the sixth year of his captivity, he had mapped out the entire castle in his mind.

A blaring siren heralded the start of another day. Dragging a hand over his face, Axel wrenched himself from dreams of wild adventures, memories that made his heart sing. As the taste of freedom faded from his lips, he prepared to face another day of cold hard reality within the castle's stone walls.

Running a hand through his hair, he breathed in deeply and held it, sure he could almost remember what the wind felt like on his skin. A second signal echoed off the walls, and he felt adrenaline shoot through him. With a jerk, he sat up and punched the snoring lump beside him. Today was big.

"Yo. Leon. Rise and shine."

Muffled groans came from within the blankets, and Axel smiled. Nine years of servitude, and Leon still couldn't handle mornings. Axel liked to think of it as proof that the kingdom's mindless routines weren't guaranteed to scrub away your personality. Quiet and reserved, at first glance Leon appeared no different to the other broken souls bound to the castle. The Nobles didn't see the iron will behind his calm exterior, but Axel did. He learned early on that Leon would be an invaluable ally, with knowledge and contacts reaching far beyond his own, and a budding rebellion already threading through the castle's service quarters years before Axel had even been captured.

With a massive yawn, Axel rose to his feet, the day's plans slotting into place. He looked down as Leon mumbled incoherently, wobbling pathetically within his blankets.

"Don't make me kick you, Sunshine – you _know_ I will – and if you don't get your ass in gear, you'll forfeit Mess Hall rights."

In a flash, he was standing. Bleary eyed and mused, but awake. Around them, others were beginning to stir. Axel span his knife and tucked it into the back of his belt.

His dangerous past had spread quickly throughout the castle's soldiers. His blood red hair and vicious smile still set the older soldier's nerves on edge. Veterans who had seen the Thirteenth fall, teeth and knives bared to the very end. They'd freeze when he entered a room, eyes wary, flinch when his name was mentioned. New recruits picked up on their fear, and Axel liked that. He could use it. Over the years, accounts of the Thirteenth's massacre had earned it's members a cult like status, living legends of such fury that even reduced to slavery, grown men were still scared to look them in the eye.

Axel doused his face in the frigid water of the servant's washroom, and stared at himself in the small, cracked mirror. His eyes were dark, his face haggard. They were right to be afraid.

He found Leon waiting by the Kitchen's main door, a vast wooden block inlaid with shining letters and symbols. A nod to Leon, and together they pressed their palms against the smooth wood. Runes flared, and they passed through the open door. It was time to play the part.

Picking up one of the heavy trays, He scanned the room for a familiar face. Sitting on a raised platform towards the front of the hall sat a lone figure strumming half heartedly on a worn sitar. Their eyes met, and the musician smiled. Axel grinned back. It must be good news, for a change.

It hadn't taken Axel long to decide the only good thing about Kitchen Duty was serving in The Mess Hall. After long missions, the Kingdom's soldiers were granted feasts in celebration of their spoils. Namely, how many so called rebels and threats they ripped from their homes in the name of the Kingdom's glory. From the looks on their faces, it had been a good raid.

He recalled meals at The Thirteenth's stronghold. The mismatched group clustered around the campfire, all smiles and camaraderie. They were dysfunctional and volatile, but there was a sense of family there, in the fire's glow.

He remembered how the rich light cast flickering shadows over everything. The feel of Roxas's hand resting next to his. Close, but not quite touching. The hidden smile when their fingers brushed together.

Here, soldiers sat in regiments, lining tables that split them into ranks. No exceptions, no freedom, just the same calculated control that ran through the rest of the castle's unforgiving stone.

He tossed a salute to Leon, who waved before moving silently towards the back of the room. The chances were slim, but Yuffie might have been out back taking stock of broken weaponry. Face set, Leon ignored the jeers and taunts of the soldiers, passing out their food with the same unassuming nature that had kept him invisible for so many years. He left Axel to take the limelight, moving in the shadows as the kingdom's men watched him with fear in their eyes.

Nearing the back of the room, he noticed a small gray note wedged underneath the far window. With a slight smile, he continued his duties.

Axel made sure his shirt fully covered his trusty knife. He was a soldier first and foremost, and some habits die hard. These were his enemies, and he would never go into their midst empty handed. Besides, as a local celebrity, it was best to keep some insurance against those that felt they had something to prove.

Axel slowly made his way along the tables, eyes watchful. He hadn't forgotten yesterday's outbreak, and if the tensed shoulders he passed by were anything to go by, they hadn't either. Word through the servant's quarters said a young soldier was in the Enchanter's ward, lips sealed. It was bad enough he was found in the Dining Hall, a room off limits to Kingdom Soldiers outside regimented meal times, if he implied a servant's involvement, he would be stripped of his rank, and thrown into the castle dungeons until The King decided his temper had cooled. Attacking servants was seen as unacceptable. Attacking the defenceless, an intolerable act of cruelty which could spark rebellion and disorder. Axel snorted – _Defenceless_. Control sold as kindness, order in The Kingdom's enlightened, golden castle. Axel knew better. He didn't want damaged goods.

Chaining souls and enforcing his will across the Kingdom, with no remorse for the shattered families left behind... that was peachy, but allowing scuffles within his own walls fell just short of his code of conduct.

Nearing the friends of yesterday's naive soldier, Axel smiled, making sure to show all his teeth. They shrank back in their chairs, eyes burning. Across the room, a flash of silver caught his attention. There, amongst the noise and revelry, a soldier sat perfectly still, staring him down. There was something there, in his eyes. Determination, a green fire that reminded him of days long past. The face he used to see in the mirror. Axel felt the rest of the world melt away, danger prickling along his skin. Those eyes wanted something, and the man behind them was confident. Confident enough to challenge The Thirteenth. Axel's fingers itched to reach towards his weapon. He could throw it. He was fast enough. He could be back to his rounds before anyone even knew what had happened.

It was a stupid plan. He knew, even as he shifted the weight of the tray to one hand, and reached slowly towards his back, that to strike now, in clear sight of the legions was suicide. He sensed Leon's approach, but he was still far away. He wouldn't make it in time.

The soldier's eyes didn't waver, but a small smile curved his lips. A slight nod, slow and measured, and silver hair fell to shadow his eyes. Axel narrowed his eyes, and watched as the soldier turned to his companions, talking easily, as though nothing had even happened. A hand on Axel's shoulder brought him back. Leon's voice was casual, but his grip was strong.

"Something wrong?"

Axel cracked his neck and pulled away, flashing a smile over his shoulder.

"Nah." His eyes slid towards the nearby soldiers who sat silently, listening intently. "Bit gray out, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Leon thumbed the small note tucked within a hidden seam in his pocket. "But we'll see the sun soon enough."

So Yuffie was still on board. Axel moved away, gears turning, silver hair scraping at the back of his mind. He'd have to watch his back, but what else was new.

Demyx looked worried, chewing vigorously on his lip as he hands idly danced over the strings, as second nature as breathing. As he saw his friend approaching, he stared intently in the opposite direction, muttering "_Axchulll!_" out the side of his mouth in a strained stage whisper. "_Whut's guuing ooon?_"

Axel chuckled to himself. "Subtle, Dems." Resting his tray on the stage, he tapped out the tune's rhythm on the hard wooden surface. "Nothing to worry about. Any gossip?"

A string twanged, but was quickly covered up by a new melody. Demyx closed his eyes, and whispered with a racing heart.

"You know, there's more people coming to hear me play, these days."

"Oh?" Axel kept his face neutral, slowly moving Demyx's plate onto the stage. They weren't alone then. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. Shame Xig can't see how much I've improved though."

"Yeah. He wouldn't believe his ears."

"Do you... you remember how he always used to make fun of me?" Demyx gazed out over the hall, distant memories playing across his mind. "You all did." He smiled, music lulling to a soft, melancholy hum in the background. "It wasn't so bad though, I always got him back on the night watch. He'd be working on his crossbows, and _BAM!_ I'd jump out and he'd leap a mile high! Got him every time." Axel picked up his empty tray, and tried to keep a smug smile from stretching across his face. So Xigbar was working the night shift. In the armoury, most likely, if maintenance was involved.

"You're lucky he never shot you, you know."

Demyx shrugged. "Sometimes I think he always knew I was there... anyway, look after yourself, Axel." Demyx's stomach clenched as he watched his friend walk away. Attention turning back to his melodies, he murmured a desperate prayer under his breath, and tried to lose himself to the twisting notes, to fall into sound and movement and forget he was even real at all.


End file.
